


A Not So Easy Arrangement

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Derek is a Good Alpha, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fuckbuddies, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Derek’s still the Alpha, and Erica and Boyd aren’t dead. <br/>Stiles and Derek have to fake-date because of werewolf reasons, but it shouldn’t be too hard because they’re already having sex together? And they’re great friends? <br/>Shouldn’t be too hard, Stile thinks, but he’s been pining away, and he was actually gonna ask out Derek for real, because he kinda loves him, but now he just feels weird. And he’s still finding ways to fall in love with Derek.  <br/>Rated E because wall sex should happen *nod solemnly*</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Not So Easy Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonlightcalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightcalls/gifts).



Stiles has a spring in his steps when he enters the clinic--aka the Pack’s favorite place for meetings because all their scents are mingled, God know why--but his good mood quickly leaves the building when he takes in the somber mood that seems to have taken over his wolves.

“Who died?” he says tiredly, more in jest than anything but Scott and Boyd both give him a clear “don’t you dare” look.

“No one died, Stiles,” Scott finally replies, and Stiles almost lets out a sigh of relief, but then, Erica snarls a “yet” that sends shivers down his spine.

“Alright then,” Stiles says, jumping on the counter that is his allotted place, “what’s going on, who do we have to fight and when can we fight them?”

“There will be no fight,” Derek says, emerging from the shadows, like the total Alpha creep that he is, “and for what’s going on, it’s a bit … complicated.”

“Well, uncomplicate it, oh Alpha my Alpha.”

Erica smirks, Boyd’s lips quiver and Scott snickers in the crook of his elbow.

Okay, so the situation is dire but not desperate, if Stiles can make them laugh.

“There is this … pack,” Derek starts, already fed up with the situation as it is, “that was allied to my mom’s, back when--Before.”

“Okay, so far, so good,” Stiles says, trying to prompt more words from Derek.

Oh he knows how to get words and sounds out of Derek alright, but the present company might be offended to have to watch their Alpha getting his mind blown via sex.

Bygones.

“Apparently, according to some documents they sent me,” Derek goes on, producing a folded letter that has probably seen better days, “my mother sealed the alliance by …,” and there, Derek’s voice drops so low that Stiles can’t quite catch it.

The rest of the Pack does, obviously, and they all advert their eyes, only lighting a fire under Stiles’ curiosity.

And they should know how bad an idea that is, by now.

“By … what?” he asks, ready to jump in and snatch that letter if he has to.

“By betrothing me to the pack’s Alpha’s oldest child.”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth rapidly, trying to find something to say, to the point where anything will do really, but for the first time in his life, nothing comes.

“Mazal tov?” he finally says, hesitantly and clearly in shock.

Beyond the idea that someone as progressive as Talia Hale apparently agreed to something as Middle Agey as betrothing her own son to someone they didn’t know, there is a dark feeling building up in Stiles’ chest, something green and angry and also sad.

But it doesn’t make any sense, because Stiles cannot be jealous.

Can he?

“No, there is no mazal involved here,” Derek growls, “trust me.”

Stiles stomps on the wave of awe that sweeps through him like it always does when Derek’s polyglotism makes an appearance and tries to focus on the problem at hand.

“Is she not to your tastes?” he suggests in an attempt to understand Derek’s lack of enthusiasm without mixing it with his own feelings.

Derek simply glares at him. “Nora is … fine,” he replies with a shrug, and Stiles does his very best to keep himself from growling in annoyance.

He really hangs out too much with the wolves.

“Then what’s the issue?” he asks, looking away from Derek to look at Deaton, Scott and Boyd, the most susceptible to give him an answer--well at least Boyd’s would be straightforward and make sense of whatever cockery Deaton can cook up.

“Well …”

“How can I put it into words …”

“What about just telling me!” Stiles explodes, and Erica gives Derek a pointed, loaded look, as if she had predicted that Stiles would demand an answer.

It’s always good to know that at least one Beta knows him at all.

Derek’s ears and neck turn a lovely shade of red--a shade Stiles is intimately familiar with.

Because it’s the very shade Derek usually turns when Stiles keeps a constant stream of whispered filthy words in his ear while fucking him into the bed, or even when Derek is the one holding him up against the wall.

When there is nothing between their bodies but sweat.

When it’s just the two of them, and Stiles doesn’t have to be careful about the way he looks at Derek, or the way he touches him, or the words that come out of his mouth because when the dust settles down and the light is turned back on, those words can be brushed under the carpet as by-products of the heat of the moment.

When Stiles doesn’t have to lie about the truth behind them.

But back to the present situation--Stiles tilts his head to the side, giving Derek his whole attention.

“I can’t … I cannot honor that pact.”

For a moment, Stiles has to pinch himself to make sure that he has not been transported into one of Melissa’s Rom-coms where the dark, brooding hero makes a touching declaration of love to his designated love interest.

But it passes quickly, when a little voice reminds Stiles of the simple fact that Derek does not have love for him.

Lust and a begrudging respect, yes--but love?

Meh.

“Nora Ilford may be fine in appearance, but she holds some beliefs that I cannot--,” Derek starts, his eyes locked with Stiles’, “that I cannot agree to be associated with.”

“She believes that bitten werewolves should be enslaved,” Scott explains and Stiles’ lips form an “O” of shock.

“Shit.”

“Indeed.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So what do we do to make sure that you don’t get married to the cuckoo’s nest without starting a war?”

Derek looks away, pointedly away from Stiles, and when Stiles looks for support with any of the other members of the pack, they all pretend that their nails, claws and feet are the most interesting things to ever hold their attention.

“Well?”

Deaton smiles at him and takes a step forward. “The only solution would be to claim that Derek is already, um …”

“What, off the market?”

“Exactly.”

Stiles shrugs and reaches out to clap Derek’s shoulder, earning himself an unbelieving glare. “Well, it’s fairly easy then isn’t it?”

This time around, they all turn to look at him like he’s insane. “How does that make the situation any easier?” Erica asks, eyes wide and fangs peeking out in her agitation.

“We just need to make them believe that Derek is already engaged, married, bonded, mated, whatever,” Stiles says, opening up his palms to highlight the obvious, “to one of us and we’ll be good.”

Deaton opens and closes his mouth, and Stiles mentally adds a line in the column he has in his mind about the occurrences where he stunned the vet/emissary into silence.

It’s not a very populated column.

“It actually makes sense,” Boyd says, a weight visibly lifted from his shoulders.

“All we need to do is determine which one of us will be your alibi,” Erica adds, a hint of a smile on her face now that a solution seems to be on the horizon.

“It would have to be someone that has already spent a sizable amount of time with Derek,” Deaton says, walking around the room, “so both their scents would be more or less mingled and it wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“And not a bitten wolf either,” Derek says, finally adding his two cents in a situation that concerns him directly. “As to not antagonize the Ilfords.”

A circle of looks is exchanged around the room, until they all land on Stiles.

“And what are the Ilfords’ views on humans paired up with wolves?” Scott asks slowly.

“No opinion whatsoever.”

Stiles gulps and Derek sighs.

“Well then,” Scott says, reaching for both of their shoulders, “mazal tov indeed.”

“Yeah,” Derek replies, shrugging him off and stalking away, “mazal fucking tov.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling.

Whatever he did in a past life, no matter how much of an asshole he’s been in this one, surely he does not deserve as much shit as he deals with.

Pretend to be in a committed relationship with the guy he has a purely physical, relief-inducing relationship even though he has a massive crush on said guy--yeah, that’s a whole new level of shittiness.

 

\---

 

When he leaves the clinic, Derek isn’t quite sure where he wants to go, or what he wants to do.

All he knows is that he needs to walk away from the situation, from that discussion, from the all too observant eyes of his pack.

From Stiles.

From the instinct that howls from deep within to tell Stiles that he cannot be betrothed to anyone else because his heart already belongs to him.

From the need of his wolf, thrumming in his veins, that wants to bury his nose in Stiles’ short hair on the nape of his neck and find some peace in his herbal scent.

A scent that is getting closer and closer, because of course Stiles came after him.

Of fucking course, because now that they are embarked in this scheme, Stiles would want to plan, would want to know what’s expected of him and what lies ahead.

It’s the strategist in him, Derek knows that, and if he’s being totally honest--and where else to do it than in the privacy of his mind--he is quite fond of this trait of personality.

“Derek, wait up!”

Because he feels contradictory, Derek walks just a bit faster, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth briefly before the whole situation comes back to him.

Fucking shitty situation.

Stiles’ heartbeat quickens, and the sound of his footsteps on the dirt of the forest floor gets louder.

“Derek!”

There is something foreign, almost, in Stiles’ voice, something that runs deeper than the reluctant care that has grown in the human the more time they spend all together.

And Derek is not talking about the extra time the two of them spend in his bed, blending their scents together and making it impossible to know where he ends up and where Stiles begins, and vice versa.

“Derek, I swear to God!”

Stiles is full-on running right now, and just because he can, Derek stops walking, forcing Stiles to hit his back head-on.

“You jackass,” Stiles mutters, rubbing his forehead before punching Derek’s shoulder.

For all the good it does him, Derek finds the gesture adorable.

Not that he would ever utter the word when applying it to Stiles, not out loud, God no.

“You did that on purpose,” Stiles adds, mouth twisted in annoyance and one eyebrow raised up in a silent challenge.

Derek can’t help but smirk smugly.

“You do realize that if we go through that plan of ours,” Stiles says slowly, as if Derek is particularly dense, “you need me.”

I already do, is what Derek thinks, but he rolls his eyes and huffs away.

No need to add humiliation to the whole mess--he’ll get what he can from Stiles, and that’ll be it.

How could Stiles return any of Derek’s feelings anyway.

“Why would you agree to this?” Derek asks before he can stop himself. “What’s in here for you anyway?”

“Besides keeping you safe from someone who would have all of our friends in chains or worse?” Stiles retorts. “Jee, I don’t know, the opportunity to sweet talk you and make you act all coupley?”

There is a tick in Stiles’ heartbeat that makes Derek raise an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

Derek smiles at Stiles, trying to figure it out.

“You do want to see me act all coupley,” he says slowly, as the realization dawns on him.

“No!”

Stiles’ response is far too vehement to be truthful.

“You want me to woo you.”

“Shut up!”

“Want me to find you a cute nickname?”

“Don’t you dare.”

For the first time since the missive from the Ilford clan arrived, Derek lets himself smile, his grin only widening when Stiles blushes even more in response to it.

“Oh come on, Czeslaw-poo, don’t push me away,” he replies, dropping his voice to a lower register that usually turns Stiles into goo.

Ah there it is, that familiar smell of mint that mixes with Stiles’ usual grassy scent.

Derek could drown in that smell.

“I would never,” Stiles says, crossing his arms over his chest with fire in his eyes and a dangerous smile on his lips, “Der-bear.”

Derek groans. “Oh God, no, not that.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he comes closer to Derek. “What’s the matter, Der-bear.”

“I’m not particularly fond of that particular nickname, honey.”

Stiles lets out a bark of laughter. “Alright, Derek, I’ll find something else.”

The way Stiles stretches out the “-ek” sound in Derek’s name stirs something dark and hot in his gut, and on second thoughts, he could definitely use that particular brand of stress-relief.

“What do you say we leave the nicknames for now,” he starts slowly, “and focus on making sure that we smell like a proper couple for when the Ilfords will come and challenge our response?”

“Because they will?” Stiles asks, slightly alarmed--so alarmed, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Derek bracketing him against a tree.

“That’s what you choose to focus on,” he comments, tilting his head to nose at the small hair curling behind Stiles’ ear.

“Well--oh,” Stiles finally catches on, arms reaching for Derek’s waist. “I suppose that it’s a good idea to be prepared.”

“Hm-hm,” Derek hums, placing a small, soft kiss to the corner of Stiles’ jaw.

It’s probably the softest gesture they have ever shared, and Derek is getting deaf on how loud Stiles’ heart is beating all of a sudden.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go fuck our smells all over each other.”

It’s all Derek needs to get back into the present, into the situation as it really is--there is no softness, no tenderness between them.

Companionship, friendship, lust, sure, they are far beyond the animosity that used to rule them, but that’s not what lies in Derek’s heart now.

It’s like he said--he’ll take what he can, while he can.

 

\---

 

Stiles closes his eyes as Derek tightens his hold on his hips, and for a moment, while Derek pants in his ear, he lets himself believe that this is real.

That it’s not just a mindless, stress-relieving fuck.

That Derek is his boyfriend, his lover, his mate, whatever term covers the whole encompassing need Stiles has for the Alpha, and that they’re “just” making love.

His shoulders hit the wall behind him, but Stiles doesn’t mind the roughness of the bricks, not when his fingers are either buried into Derek’s soft hair or pressed against his shoulder blade, not when his heels dig into Derek’s buttcheeks, pulling him closer, deeper.

“Ah!”

Derek is not even fucking into him any more, barely rotating his hips to rub his cock against Stiles’ prostate.

What started as “regular” wall sex is slowly but surely turning into a naked, standing up cuddle session, and while Stiles doesn’t really mind, not when Derek is holding him up, his hands sliding from Stiles’ hip to the small of his back, it’s crossing far too many lines they had drawn in the sand.

Or so he thought.

Derek shudders his touch, head bowed backwards for a moment, and good heavens, he looks so beautiful in this moment Stiles could cry.

He lets go of the back of Derek’s head to reach for his cock to reach his own completion, but Derek bats at his hand before lowering him back to the floor, one hand pressed to his chest so Stiles leans against the wall.

And then Derek gets to his knees, his own cock slowly softening between his legs, and takes Stiles’ cock in his mouth, sucking him into the wet heat to give him that push towards orgasm.

Stiles’ fingers are back in Derek’s hair, and he can feel the rush of pleasure heightened by Derek’s touch burning through him as he comes, almost too much for a moment and Stiles closes his eyes to keep himself conscious.

He must pass out, however, because one moment his cock was leaking semen into Derek’s mouth, and the next, that very mouth is busy kissing and licking nonsensical patterns up Stiles’ legs.

It takes him a remarkable amount of time to realize that Derek is licking his own come dripping from Stiles’ hole, and his cock makes a valiant effort to return to a hardened state.

“Oh damn Derek,” he moans, the last syllable stretched into a groan, and Derek gives his inner thigh one more kiss before leaning away, looking up at him.

There is a small smile gracing his shiny lips, and his eyes are big and bright and three words are right on the tip of Stiles’ tongue.

But he can’t.

Instead, he moves his hand from the back of Derek’s head to cup his cheek and rubs his thumb along the line of his cheekbone.

“Do you think,” he starts, breathless as he tries to keep himself upright, “do you think it will be enough for the Ilfords?”

A darkness passes in Derek’s eyes and he stands up, tearing himself away from Stiles to get his clothes back.

“We need to scent each other’s clothes,” Derek stays, his back to Stiles, “but we shall be fine.”

Stiles picks up his clothes and gets dressed, needing to be away from Derek and his coldness, his indifference.

“Alright then,” he mutters. “I’ll--I’ll just bring back some clothes around, and--and, you can just lend me some of yours and--”

“Or we could just make a nest of both our clothes and lay in there for a couple of hours.”

The words seem to have come out of Derek’s mouth in a rush, before he could stop himself, and the back of his neck is bright red.

Stiles closes the buttons of his jeans, bowing his head down to hide the gleeful smile that must be on his face. “That sounds like an excellent idea,” he replies, “and that will give us some opportunity to rehearse.”

“Rehearse?” Derek frowns at him.

“PDA, cuddles, casual touches in public.”

“Right.”

“So,” Stiles finally says when Derek doesn’t comment further, “see you--see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” Derek replies, a small smile on his face, but as Stiles goes to close his door, he hears the “schmoopsie-poo” the Alpha throws his way, and even though there is no way in Hell that Stiles will actually answer to that particular brand of ridicule, he cannot shake the smile from his face.

 

\---

 

The Ilfords reply to Deaton’s carefully crafted letter denying the terms of the alliance like they assumed they would--by demanding a proof of Derek’s unavailability and of the strength of his bond.

“How long until they invade Beacon Hills?” Derek asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Til the next full moon,” Deaton replies, “so that means a little less than three weeks.”

“That should be enough to--,” Scott starts, before frowning and sniffing around. “Never mind, it already smells like you two have been all over each other for months.”

Derek carefully avoids Stiles’ eyes, facing Scott and the rest of the pack instead. “We’ve been working on it,” he replies, and he resists the urge to bite on his lower lip when Erica’s eyes widen.

“Working on it, uh?”

“Exchanging clothes, increasing our touches,” Stiles replies, cool as a cucumber and with more of a poker face Derek gave him credit for. “It works, then?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, still frowning. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Stiles, can I talk to you?”

Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping slightly as he nods and follows Scott out of the vet’s office.

Derek wishes he could follow him, because he’s instantly surrounded by his Betas.

“What are you thinking?”

“Derek, this can only end badly.”

“You should stop beating yourself up.”

That catches his attention, and he turns to face Boyd. “What do you mean?”

Boyd sighs, apparently already regretting giving his input. “You reek of guilt,” he explains, and Erica and Isaac nod eagerly. “If you were just honest with Stiles about how you feel, you could bake your cake and eat it too.”

“TMI,” Isaac mutters and Erica gently slaps the back of his head to get him quiet.

“I don’t have any particular feelings for Stiles,” Derek replies, hoping that the phrasing will keep his betas from hearing the lie.

Then again, there is nothing particular about his feelings--he has them, lots of them, has had them for a while, he’s used to them now.

“But you do want to have him all over your apartment, all over your belongings--”

“All over you.”

“Again, TMI!”

“Oh shut up, just because you don’t have any inclination towards romance or sex doesn’t mean that Derek has to remain celibate and mopey.”

“You shut up.”

“Can Derek have a word in this discussion about himself, or am I bothering you?”

“Shh, we’ll get back to you.”

Derek turns to look at Deaton, hoping for some support, but the vet looks mightily entertained.

Damn him.

“Well, don’t you?”

Derek turns back to face Erica, who just reached for his chin, leaving him not a lot of choice in the matter.

“Oh boy, you’re in deep.”

Boyd claps him on the shoulder while Isaac gives him a sympathetic smile, and Derek crumbles like a poorly baked biscuit.

“I don’t--,” he starts, looking down, “I mean, he--we don’t.”

“Well, that clears things up.”

“It’s not like that, okay?” he protests. “I--but he doesn’t.”

“Oh Derek,” Isaac says softly, “I assure you he does.”

“No, he does not,” Derek insists, turning his back on them. “Now can we all focus on plan B if the Ilfords don’t bite?”

He can hear the three of them mouthing words he doesn’t want to hear before coming to his side with maps of the territory.

“Sure Alpha.”

At least he trained them well--and Derek needs to take all the successes that he can.

 

\---

 

Nora Ilford is the epitome of a dickish Alpha werewolf if Stiles has ever seen any, and he’s been around Peter Hale and Derek at his most distasteful.

It’s not her stature--if anything she is petite, even by human standards--as much as the two Betas dressed up in rags and trailing behind her with their heads bowed at all times.

Stiles wants to pull them to his side and snarl at her, but he knows better, and works on his poker face at Derek’s side.

Behind them, Scott stands with the Betas, arms crossed over his chest and eyes burning red--just a warning that all bitten werewolves can elevate themselves above and beyond.

Not very subtle, but then again, from what pieces of information they gathered, the Ilfords don’t do subtle.

Other Alphas and born Betas follow Nora, but there is apparently no human in her cohort.

Stiles is torn between hating the fact that he’s the only human standing in the clearing--Deaton is protected by his former status as Hale emissary--and loving the glare Nora throws his way the moment she is in sniffing range.

He straightens up to his full height, shoulder to shoulder with Derek, and projects in any way he can without climbing Derek like a tree that the Hale heir is taken, off the market, very much not available for her baby hands.

Seriously, freakishly petite--she’s even smaller than Lydia, for fuck’s sake.

“Derek,” she purrs as she reaches them. “Long time no see.”

“Can’t say that I remember ever seeing you, Nora,” Derek says with a small bow of his head, “but it is a pleasure to renew the friendship between our families.”

“I planned on making it a bonded alliance,” Nora says with a pout, “but you absolutely reek of this … human, it’s nauseating.”

“Babe, is she insulting me?” Stiles asks innocently, smiling at Nora.

“Oh no, Czes, she would never,” Derek replies, tone just as innocent as his left hand comes to rest on Stiles’ hip, “Nora didn’t mean anything bad.”

“Of course not,” Nora says, gritting her teeth and pulling her lips into a semblance of a smile. “I merely meant that your love is blinding, and for all to see.”

“I should hope so,” Stiles says, looking at Derek with a content smile. “This Alpha is sooo demanding.”

This is said in a tone of confidence, and Nora seems taken aback by Stiles’ apparent camaraderie. “I know us Alphas can get a bit … taxing,” she says with a short laugh, “but it seems that you have more than what it takes to keep up, Human.”

“Call me Stiles,” Stiles offers, detaching himself from Derek’s side. “And allow me to show you your quarters for the rest of your stay, Alpha Ilford,” he adds, sticking to the protocol like his life depends on it.

Well …

It kind of does, doesn’t it.

Derek’s eyes never leave him, just like Erica never leaves Stiles’ side whenever he has to walk in another room.

Nora may look harmless enough, but Derek doesn’t want to take any chance, and a human is just so … breakable.

“I’m surprised you haven’t bitten him yet,” Nora comments one night after they share a run in the forest.

“I would never force the bite on him,” Derek says, his head turned in the direction of the house. “The bite is a gift, but one that has to be required.” He pauses, and since Stiles is out of range, decides to let his feelings out. After all it will only reinforce the idea that he’s taken, and blissfully so. “I prefer to present him with other gifts,” he adds sheepishly.

Nora gives him a long, searching look. “It’s really such a shame,” she finally says, standing up, the dark skin of her arms and legs catching the starlight. “We would have made quite the pair, Derek.”

“I’m sure,” Derek says straightening up too. “But I couldn’t walk away from him.”

“And him from you,” Nora replies, looking at him over her shoulder. “How you manage not to ravish him all day long when he looks at you the way he does is beyond me.”

Before Derek can ask her what she means, Nora howls and runs back to the house, and he can only follow her and wonder what she meant by that.

 

It’s the last night the Ilford pack is spending on Hale territory, new treaty signed between the two Alphas.

Stiles doesn’t know if he’s happy to see them go, or if he would have liked to see them stay a bit longer just to keep on playing domestic with Derek.

And dear God are they good at that game.

So good, in fact, that it wouldn’t take too much to make it something more permanent.

Because Stiles has gotten used--nay, addicted--to the feeling of Derek’s fingers on his neck at odd times.

To be free to nose Derek’s cheek whenever it’s within his reach.

To wear Derek’s shirt and to see Derek in his own clothes.

(And it’s not just because Derek stretches them slightly and what a sight it is)

To have Derek smile up at him with that deep look of longing in his eyes.

As Nora takes her leave, Stiles already starts mourning his relationship with Derek.

At least they will still have their fucking arrangement.

But Stiles is not sure that he can be satisfied with a purely physical relationship now that he has gotten a taste of what it means to date Derek Hale.

“You have an Alpha wrapped around your little finger, Stiles,” Nora says in his ear as she leaves. “You must be one Hell of a lover.”

“Nora,” Derek growls, eyes flashing red as his hand comes to pull Stiles back to his side.

Nora shrugs, letting out a small giggle that is far too coy to be honest. “Can’t blame a gal for trying,” she says, pointing at the two of them. “Selene be blessed, you two are gorgeous together.”

Stiles turns to look at Derek, shocked to find him already looking at him with that look that has been puzzling Stiles for the past week.

“In more ways that you know,” Derek replies before smiling at Nora in that smug grin of his. “Safe trip home, Nora.”

Nora bows her head before snapping her fingers at the Betas. “Onward,” she commands, and before they can count to ten, the whole pack is back in their cars.

Once the cars are far away, Erica slumps against Boyd. “Boy, am I happy to see them away from our hair,” she grumbles. “I don’t even want to think about what it would have meant to have her as a permanent co-Alpha.”

Isaac shudders at that, slumping against Boyd’s other side and welcoming Scott’s support. “Eurgh, don’t joke with that.”

“I’m not that bad after all,” Stiles jokes, elbowing Derek in the side and Derek smiles at him softly.

“No, you’re not that bad,” he replies, leaning in for a soft peck on the lips before going back into the house, leaving Stiles stunned on his feet.

The Betas and Scott look between Stiles, who is opening and closing his mouth, and the door that Derek left ajar, but they seem to all reach the same conclusion:

They need to leave it to them to settle everything.

“Bye Stiles!”

“See you tomorrow, enchiladas with Mom, don’t forget!”

“Buh-bye!”

Stiles slowly wiggles his fingers in their direction, mouth still gaping before shaking himself out of his stupor.

And then he rushes back in the house.

“Derek!”

Derek is in the kitchen pouring two mugs of tea--damn, he even remembered that Stiles like his peppermint tea with a stick of cinnamon because he’s a weirdo--and with the soft light that comes from the single light bulb above their heads, Derek looks …

Well, he looks good all the time, but he looks positively angelic in this moment, pulling Stiles’ heart from his chest to his throat.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

The mirror to the conversation they had when it all started is not lost on Stiles, and he walks closer to Derek.

Derek, who is focusing on the teabags and the water.

And Stiles lets his lips stretch into a small smile.

Yep, that’s the man he has decided to love, apparently.

“Derek?”

“Hm?”

“Would you go on a date with me?”

There, he did it.

Now, it’s up to Derek, but at least Stiles took that chance.

Derek freezes and gives him a startled look. “You--you want to …?”

“Woo you, yeah.”

Derek rolls his eyes but there is a hint of a smile in them. “Get all coupley, for real?”

“For realsies, schmoopsy-poo.”

A bark of a laugh comes out of Derek’s mouth, followed by an adorable snort and a spread of a blush on his cheeks and neck. He takes the time to take the teabags out of their mugs before leaning against the counter, facing Stiles.

When Stiles doesn’t move, Derek lifts his hand and crooks his finger at him. “Well get here and get i--hmmmm.”

They kiss long and hard and soft and gentle, the two of them letting out the emotions they had managed to keep at bay until Derek breaks the kiss, hands buried in Stiles’ back pockets.

“Just one thing.”

Stiles kisses down Derek’s neck. “Hm?”

“No more ridiculous nicknames.”

Stiles looks up and lifts one hand in a formal gesture. “Promise.”


End file.
